


Cost of War

by mariadperiad20



Series: ATLA Adventures [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Coping, Devotion, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mai is a queen, PTSD, literally and also shes my fave, non-verbal communication, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:21:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24713767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariadperiad20/pseuds/mariadperiad20
Summary: Zuko would wake up screaming. It didn't matter that the war had ended four years ago, or that he was now Fire Lord, or that Mai was his Queen. Nearly every night, sometimes more than once, he would wake up with his voice going hoarse - more hoarse than usual, anyway - from screaming. Agony, fear, pain... it didn't matter.aka: Mai and Zuko understand each other, without having to say a word.
Relationships: Mai/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: ATLA Adventures [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1795180
Comments: 10
Kudos: 197





	Cost of War

Zuko would wake up screaming. It didn't matter that the war had ended four years ago, or that he was now Fire Lord, or that Mai was his Queen. Nearly every night, sometimes more than once, he would wake up with his voice going hoarse - more hoarse than usual, anyway - from screaming. Agony, fear, pain... it didn't matter.

The nightmares, the terrors, the shaking, the moments when he would see or hear something and suddenly he was back in the war. Fighting Azula, facing his father. Watching his friends go into battle, not knowing if they would live or die. Watching Mai, now his spouse, save his life on Boiling Rock, not knowing if she would survive Azula's wrath.

He was a child, forced into war.

Sometimes, he was okay with that, had made peace with it as a fact of his life. He was fine. He was fine. The mantra he wished to himself, as if repeating it enough times would make it reality.

Other times, though... he just felt himself become so empty, and then so angry at his emptiness, but even that anger was empty, too. He felt hollowed out, like the war, his father, his sister, whatever it was, had scooped out his insides and he was a husk wearing human skin.

If someone peeled back his skin, what would they find? A man? A chasm of fire? Or, as he suspected, nothing at all.

Mai understood. She always had. She never tried to push, never tried to burrow under his skin because she _understood_ that there is only rotting flesh beneath.

She was the same as him, after all.

A child born of war and suffering. The difference was she doesn't wake up screaming. When she wakes up, it's with skin that's ice cold. She cries silently, turned away with one hand over her mouth, unmoving so as to conceal her emotion - only the tremble of her shoulders is any sign she was awake at all.

Zuko knows she hates it when she is like this, hates that loss of control over herself.

He hates it when he does it, too. But for him... he's always been a mess. He deserves this punishment, this endless cycle of being awake and being trapped in pain, for all of his betrayals.

But Mai, his Mai, she doesn't deserve the wretched emotions. She deserves more, and he can only try to give her what she needs in the moment.

When he wakes up screaming, she wakes as well - hard not to, after all. She calms him down with hands, soft against his skin and soothing in their touch. She can always bring a smile to his face - a dry joke usually does it. She loves him in the way he needs to be loved - unspoken but a constant presence. No words spoken - she was never one to state when she would rather show.

And he loves that about her. She was an anchor, one of the only ones he's ever had that didn't rip itself away from him when it got inconvenient. She was the only one who he could always trust.

When she wakes up crying, he doesn't always wake up. When he does, she doesn't want to be spoken to. She doesn't want to have anything that even acknowledges what is happening. She hates it, and she hates it when he sees it. There's no shame there for her, just a visceral disdain that makes it difficult for her to accept any form of affection. So, he just lies there, and when her crying stops, when she's back under control, he'll pull her into a tighter embrace, and pretend not to notice the tear tracks.

It's frustrating not to be able to help her more. To be able to offer her comfort the way she does him. but he understands that not everyone needs what he needs.

They are victims of war. different types, certainly, but victims nonetheless.

Her pain comes from loneliness, from the pain of watching everything she cares about be ripped down around her because it is the right thing to do. He chose to take down Azula, she was forced to betray her friend for his sake. Even though they never spoke of it, he did know how important Azula had been to Mai. Still was, even if she would never dare say it. It was the ultimate loss of control.

It's no wonder that she is so fixated on maintaining her self-control, then.

His pain comes from blood and fire and agony. His father's hand, his sister's lightning, all the abuses of the world stacking up on him. Unwilling to die but unable to live, agonizing.

Being forced to watch his friends go to war against his family. Knowing that his father, his sister, would very easily kill each and every one of them - out of necessity, or simply for enjoyment. Remembering the sick temptation he had had to kill his father, on the day of black sun. His father didn't know swordsmanship - his arrogance dictated only learning firebending, as it was proof of fire nation superiority - and it would have been easy.

He hadn't. To this day, Zuko wasn't sure if he had made the right decision or not. He couldn't help but think of all the suffering that could have been prevented if he had just killed his father. Then, of course, the guilt of even having considered it swept him up once more into the sea of pain.

Fighting his own family, feeling the burn of lightning through his veins, pulsing and scarring up his insides until he was no longer a living thing, just a conduit of energy. in his dreams, he swore the lightning was still there, embedded in his chest. That this time, he wasn't fast enough. That his friends weren't strong enough. that they lost. That they were slaughtered.

No matter how many years had past since they had won the war, that fear still latched in his brain.

He would watch his friends murdered, over and over and over and over and _over and_

Mai's hands were on his, covering them. He hadn't realized that they were shaking so badly.

When had he started crying?

Zuko closed his eyes, taking in a steadying breath. The sheets of their bed were tangled up in his legs - his attempts to free himself, it seemed.

Sometimes, he'd kick Mai in his sleep, body trying to force his dream self to run faster, firebend better. She refused to hurt him back, though. Never complained of it. Just would quietly get ointment in the morning, without so much as a wayward glance. As if it didn’t matter.

Just another layer of guilt, stacking up on top of him until he was sure to be crushed by the weight of it.

Zuko reopened his eyes, meeting Mai’s - her expression was impassive, but he could see the worry in her eyes. He wasn’t good at reading people. But he was good at reading her.

When she wanted to be alone with him, she would say she was bored - tell him to go order the servants on an errand, even though she had just as much power as him now. An excuse to make them leave, so it was just the two of them. When she said she hated something, she was saying how she loved other things - she hates orange, but a pink sunset with shaded purple clouds brings a certain lightness to her expression. When she was lounging against his chest, or reading, or fiddling with something, she was content, maybe even happy - but if she was lounging with her hands folded, she was fingering her throwing stars - an unconscious habit formed by her nerves, meaning she was uncomfortable.

He wondered what she had learned of him, if he had little ticks she recognized - he didn’t exactly conceal his emotions, he had never learned proper control of them. Emotions running hot was how he had learned to firebend, after all, and there was no point in trying to rebrand now. Still, if anyone knew what was going through his mind, even when he himself didn’t, it would be her.

They weren’t much for words. Just actions.

She had been raised not to speak her mind, to express her opinions and explain what she wanted through riddles and formalities and endless passive speech. Meanwhile, he had been punished - brutally so - for speaking his mind at the too-young age of 13. He had never quite recovered from that - being blunt sent irrational fear itching up his spine, and he felt phantom pain in his scar every time.

So, neither of them were good at talking things out. When they fought, it was always Zuko getting angry, and her pulling away - fast. They both knew what it was - he had his father’s temper, and it was a bit too similar to her mother’s, and it scared her, even if they would never discuss it. It used to frustrate him, when he got emotional and she would run - make a graceful exit, rather, but it was running, always running, no matter how slowly she walked.

They’re better about it now. When he gets angry he leaves - takes it out on some training dummies in the courtyard, comes back when he’s calm. He can’t control the way the fire burns inside of him, the flame of the sun corrupted in his very soul by his family, but he can make sure it never hurts someone he cares about. Ever.

They don’t talk out their fights. They have an implicit agreement - if it’s an annoyance, they make a joke about it and the other person accommodates reasonably. If it’s something that makes Mai’s shoulders slump and her eyes go dull, as she draws back into herself… if it’s something that makes Zuko’s eye twitch and his hands shake, as his breath catches… in those cases, they fucking stop whatever they do, and never do it again.

Zuko doesn’t mention Azula by name, doesn’t talk about Boiling Rock. He doesn’t approach her from behind, always comes towards here from an angle she can see. Even if it means circumventing the room first. He always does it - acts of love are more important to them than anything else, after all.

Mai doesn’t go to plays with him, only by herself or with Ty Lee - and doesn’t ask him why he can’t bring himself to set foot inside a theater. She doesn’t show him glittering stones - all he can think of is the Ba Sing Se cavern and his betrayal to his uncle, and feeling his heart want to give out. She doesn’t touch his scar. They don’t need to explain, they just know.

Sure, it maybe wasn’t the healthiest thing in the world, to never talk out problems. But it was difficult to speak when it felt like a bolt of lightning was about to come down if either of them so much as spoke frankly. They had their own way of communication - it was imperfect, sure, but it was the only way they knew how to function as individuals, let alone as a couple.

Sometimes, they just didn’t speak at all.

After a lifetime of screaming, Zuko was grateful for the silence.

He had joined the Avatar and his team, ended the war, restored peace to the lands. But, with Mai in his arms… that was the closest Zuko had ever come to peace.

**Author's Note:**

> you guys mai is the best??? like my absolute fave of the entire show, she's got everything  
> 1) throwing stars  
> 2) impassive but expresses through actions which is some good shit right there  
> 3) those bangs  
> 4) throwing stars???!!!!
> 
> comments r fun :) rewatching atla has been amazing! i was sitting on whether or not to write fics for it for the past couple weeks because the characters are young af - i'm still not sure how i feel about it, but i just remember having the biggest crush on mai when i was a kid and i really wanted to write something about her. i aged them both up a bit to be sure.


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